Only Dreams of Breath
by ejectingthecore
Summary: In mirror universe, Spock is female, and she's Pike's new star instructor at the academy. He likes to dress her just so. Warnings: bondage, but not explicit sex. Dark, no sweet bow to wrap it up.


**Title: **Only Dreams of Breath**  
Pairing: **2009 Mirror!Pike /Mirror!Girl!Spock  
**Rating:** M**  
Warning: **Bondage, but not explicit sex. Dark, without a red bow on it at the end.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing Star Trek.

Note: This was for a mirror kink meme prompt for these two characters and what Spock is wearing.

Pike's face was inspired by a concept in Ben Winters' book _Android Karenina_. I wish to become sick enough to think of such things entirely by myself. Though I'm pleased I did think of Pike in it, and how me makes it all matchy-matchy with Spock. You'll see.

* * *

She will dream of starships, when it gets worse.

One mental level will engage in speech, she knows. The teaching itself is what steadies her, and as she walks to Pike's office, she determines again to use it as her base, her focal point. She reviews and commits for the twentieth time to this plan as she strides with what seems like serene confidence across the academy grounds. Her glossy fall of straight black hair shushes against her bare back and clasped hands. She feels the scrutiny of so many hungry eyes who wonder about her oddness, fingers that wish to examine her, voices that whisper. She skates through them, as on the surface of a lake.

Under the ice, she is writhing. At the confluence of black hair and thigh high boots, she will meet him. And in the space between silvery halter and short skirt, the space where her heart beats, now too fast, under her flesh. She'll soon be encased in the torture of her instructor's uniform.

Pike likes to put it on her himself. He told her so on her first day at the academy. He'd sneered. "So, you are the one and only Spock."

She had bowed her head, commanding herself to keep her angled brows stationary.

He'd leaned back casually in his desk chair, the legendary Pike, half his face handsomely tough, the other half glistening with the sheen of prosthetic metal. Consensus was that he preferred the mask. That he could be healed, but never wished it.

"You are unique," he'd told Spock. "I've commissioned a one of a kind uniform for you. To identify you as mine."

He'd had her remove her regulation short jacket, leaving her tiny skirt and high boots. Had her lift her heavy hair as he wrapped the corset around her midriff, his fingers absently grazing her small, girl's breasts. He wished to brand her with his construction of metal and artificial polymers. It matched the deep gray wool of his own instructor's uniform, the gleaming of his awful face. They would be a stunning pair, someday riding in space, she serving at his feet and at his side. He'd told her as much before he tugged on the leather, engaging the metal ratchets and sending her tumbling into gasping, dark space.

Two seconds later, her eyes had cleared, her breath had begun coming in short bursts that struggled against the cage, her breasts, waist, heart constricted, larger-than-Human lungs gripped by artificial ribs. She'd panicked more than once, adjusting to the sensation. She'd focused on learning the limits of the pain, its contours occupying her mind while Pike had bent her over his desk and rode her with the leather gripped in his hands.

She tries not to recall that first day, as she walks placidly to report for duty. She pretends to prepare for her teaching, but there is no preparation, no meditation that will meet the physical force of burning deprivation of her most essential need.

He pulls her tighter every time. After several weeks, her waist has actually become smaller, so that even without the corset she's a parody of a woman's shape, an exaggeration of her kind.

She stands before him to accept the uniform, lifting her hair dutifully, filling her lungs as much as possible before he pulls. It is a trick as old as time, but he often allows it. This time he simply sneers while he tightens the corset's grip. She feels a spasm at first, a mostly mental struggle, then she relaxes into the space she is given. The true horror will come on slowly, as the receptors in her head begin registering the ongoing lack of oxygen.

For now, she has just started the day. He smiles at her with half a mouth.

She came here willingly, in pursuit of something divine. She knows she will get it. In the meantime, she will dream of the cold, metallic recycled air of a starsip bridge entering her lungs. As the blood rushes to wrong places, she will feel the sensation of falling through blackness and stars in a translucent capsule, images of tumbling freedom. She'll speak of physics. Only dream of breath.

.

* * *

.

fin


End file.
